Nicodemus

A member of the Jewish Council visited you at night. Fear filled him to face the sun at the day. Co-Jews would fight. Quest for truth was, yet, like hot desert sand, was burning him. Your words of wisdom quenched him from each illusion-filled whim. Rebirth is a must, you said. It's not easy. It's a pain. How could one, he asked, get into one's mother's womb again? The birth one receives, for him or her, is fortunate. Birth in truth with baptism of fire is life's coordinate. As a dewdrop rolls on and moves on a leaf of lotus He stood touched and untouched. Was love or wisdom his focus? Did, as a sloth tired of its daily bread, he turn to you? Did he, to find fulfilment, try to walk through your path too? He took part in your burial. Was this his fruit of trust? Did he know that you would rise resurrected on the earth's crust?